Out of the Blue
by FUlyric
Summary: The flash is so bright, you are momentarily blinded, and the cracking noise is startling, followed immediately by the smell of ozone. You're not totally sure what just happened. COMPLETE - Warning has changed; please proceed with caution!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I have not abandoned my other story, I just got a plot bug and had to write it down. It's mostly an exercise in scenic writing, more focused on describing things, so there isn't very much dialogue, and it will just be a two-shot. Second person POV. Just a **warning** - there is some salty language in this story (I'm not a big swearer myself, but sometimes, you know, it's all you can say). **Warning #2** - spoilers up through "Mulligan." **Warning #3 **- this is **NOT** a happy/fluffy/humorous story. There will be a major **death**. Just letting ya know. :/

* * *

**Out of the Blue**

The fight is stupid – you know it, and you suspect your brother does, too. You don't mean to say "I told you so" when speaking about your father, but then again, Evan should NOT have gone to Boris after he promised he wouldn't. Even though he says Boris came to him and not the other way around, you don't buy it. You make a point of saying that your patron deals with _you_, not Evan, and would never approach him for any reason. Words are hurled, accusations made, old grudges dredged up and things said about the "good brother" and the "bad brother," and once Evan storms out and you have time to cool down, you feel regret. Even more so after a quick phone call reveals that, indeed, Boris DID seek Evan out regarding their father – that Evan took pains to avoid Boris, even sprinting in the opposite direction to avoid breaking his promise to you. On that count, at least, you know you owe your brother an apology. He needs to apologize for his words too, but you need to be the one to initiate it because you were the most in the wrong.

You know Evan has gone down to the beach to walk off his anger. The stretch of sand is deserted as thick, smoke-black storm clouds begin to roll in towards land. He is easy to spot in his brilliant blue shirt – he stands out against the slate grey of the water and growing darkness of the sky. Always so colorful... so bright... You see him out there, watching those clouds contemplatively, looking tense and defeated. And you walk toward him, rehearsing your apology in your mind, hoping Evan won't let his stubbornness get in the way of a civil conversation to work this whole thing out. The encroaching weather has caused the waves to swell higher than normal. Thunder rolls over your heads loudly, and the wind begins to pick up – it's going to be a nasty storm, the first big one of the summer, but maybe it will wash everything that was said away. You pause about 150 feet away to call his name, and he turns his head to you, appearing to be shocked to see you standing there. You shrug in an apologetic and embarrassed manner, and continue marching through the sand toward him. "Can we go inside before we get soaked?" you call casually, about 100 feet away. He gives a whisper of a smile, and for a moment you think the fence will be easy to mend after all.

The flash is so bright, you are momentarily blinded, and the cracking noise is startling, followed immediately by the smell of ozone. You're not totally sure what just happened. Once your eyes adjust post-flash, you see your brother splayed on the ground, flat on his back. Confused as to how and why he fell, your eye is suddenly drawn to Evan's foot… his right shoe, specifically. It looks like the sole has been blown off, leaving a large hole at his heel… broken, tattered, _singed_…

Shit.

_Shit. _

You dash towards Evan and see him lying there, the blue eyes half-open, fixed, glassy, staring at nothing. You know instantly just by looking at him: he's dead… your brother is dead… he's not breathing…

Your body starts acting on its own, doing all the things it's supposed to be doing, actions you've done so often they're ingrained into your muscle memory – the hands feel for a pulse and, finding none in either the carotid or the radial arteries, forcefully begin pushing on his chest to coax the heart back to life. The hands pause only a moment, in order for one to slide beneath Evan's neck and carefully tilt his head, taking note of the trickle of blood quietly beginning to seep from his ear, and the other to pinch his nose as the lips cover his mouth and the lungs exhale as much air as possible into his. Then the hands flutter back to their position on his chest, and the process repeats.

Meanwhile your thoughts are the height of panic and hysteria – _He's dead… 300 kilovolts and he's dead… shit… my brother just died in front of me… why wasn't I hit?... God literally just smote my brother, "One will be taken and the other left"… shit, shit, shit, someone help me… I have to call an ambulance… can't stop resuscitation or he'll stay dead…. I'm all alone… he won't breathe… shit… Evan, come on, come back! Don't go like this – come back! _Your eyes take in the rather raw-looking burn above his collarbone, just to the right of his neck. That's where it went in – through there and out his foot, dissipating in the sand. The observation of the sand triggers another reflex, and as the hands move to repeat the respiration component, the fingers quickly wander up to his empty, lackluster blue eyes, shutting the lids as protection from stray granules of sand, which might scratch his vulnerable corneas. It's a preventive measure, but it's also a psychological gesture on your part – you can't function in Evan's best interests while those lifeless eyes are watching you. It's too much pressure.

You don't know how long you spend doing CPR – it feels like hours, though in reality it is perhaps only about 30 or 45 seconds or so – but you are inwardly screaming the entire time, your psyche completely detached from your physical actions, which are efficient, quick, and precise. You aren't usually so panicked with patients. Then again, it isn't often you have to wrestle your own family back from death after being arbitrarily electrocuted from on high. You only stop once, when your eye catches sight of another bolt of lightning, this one over the water some distance away, but you still cry out and protectively cover your brother and your own head. You count the appropriate number of seconds until you hear the thunder (though you can't really remember if the lightning or the thunder comes first), and you quickly resume resuscitation, feeling like a sitting duck. When you feel Evan's body jerk beneath your hands, those briefly dormant lungs suddenly filling up of their own accord and the gasp that occurs simultaneously, you shout, "Evan? Evan!" praying that the breathing doesn't stop. As the initial gasping diminishes and a shaky, wheezing rhythm develops, you lean down and use your hands to immobilize your brother's head and neck. "Evan? You with me? Evan, talk to me!"

Evan's eyelids flicker a little, showing only the whites of his eyes beneath erratically fluttering lashes, then they fall closed again. Some sort of barely audible, incomprehensible groan comes out of his mouth. "What?" you sputter, not sure if this is involuntary and pain-related or a genuine attempt at speech. "Evan, talk to me if you can. What did you say? Can you hear me?" This time there is no response at all. Though he is still breathing, he is not conscious. You whip out your phone. You know you should've done this sooner, but you didn't have time to multitask – you were too desperate to resuscitate your little brother.

"_911, what's your emergency?"_

"I need an ambulance – my brother just got hit by lightning!"

It sounds so improbable that you half wonder if the operator will believe you. But she must recognize the genuine hysteria in your voice because she continues speaking to you, soothingly, calmingly, as you babble out the details of the sky's vicious, unprovoked attack. The ambulance is dispatched, but now you must wait. Wait and watch to ensure your brother doesn't try to die again. As the first giant raindrops begin to fall, you feel horribly exposed out here in the open, where that big bad sky could attack again. But you can't in good conscience move Evan – the nearest structure is a ways off, and you don't have a stretcher or a backboard to put him on. You can't take the risk of carrying him, just in case he has a spinal cord injury from the fall. Instead, you cradle him as carefully as you can, shielding him with your windbreaker while the rain soaks you, and you just pray the adage about 'lightning never striking twice' is true. Each time the thunder rumbles, you flinch, but you do your best to avoid looking up. If it IS going to happen to you, you would rather not know it was coming -you cannot neglect what Evan needs right now just because you're waiting to be struck.

The fingers continue to monitor his erratic pulse, and you dimly hypothesize that he's suffering from an arrhythmia. Aside from the entry and exit point burns, the only other outward physical sign of injury is the blood from his ear, which possibly indicates a ruptured tympanic membrane. You see the ambulance lights, and know that in mere seconds, paramedics will join you and take him out of your arms to assess his condition before whisking him to the emergency room. In your last private moment with him, you lean down and murmur over him, hoping at least one ear will catch your words, "It's going to be okay, Evan. I'm here, I won't let you go."

* * *

Stay tuned for part 2 (the conclusion)...


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

You are not allowed to treat Evan in the ER – hospital rules, of course. It turns out that is probably a good thing, because once Evan is taken out of your sight, moved quickly to a trauma unit for evaluation, you grow shaky and clammy. An orderly catches you as your knees buckle. You don't pass out completely, but the high pitched buzzing in your dizzy brain indicates you've come close. The orderly deposits you on a bed of your own, and a nurse helps you out of your wet clothing and into a hospital gown, then begins to check your vital signs. Meanwhile, you teeter nervously on the edge of a complete breakdown. You know that you are "fine" – no injuries, no pain, just in shock, physically and emotionally. But what you have seen has completely traumatized you. Evan was dead... only for a moment… but he was still _dead_. In those horrifying seconds when there was no more Evan, you felt as though your own heart ceased to beat. In literally a flash, your brother's life had ended, and it was only through sheer force of will and a dash of chance that you were able to wrest him back into the world. But it had been too close, and you feel that the memory of holding his lifeless body will haunt you forever. If you had not bothered to follow Evan out to the beach… if Evan had not begun to breathe on his own… if his heart had not lurched back into motion… that would have been that.

As it is though, it still isn't over. You've seen a lightning strike victim once before, when you were working the ER in the city (though it is horribly, horribly different when you actually see it happen right in front of you… to your nearest, most essential loved one). He had survived initially, but had remained in a coma for almost a month before the rest of his body finally quit. The fact is, lightning injuries are notoriously hard to treat. A human body doesn't do so well when 45 kilovolts go through it (a ballpark average in an industrial electrocution)… imagine the internal damage caused by 300 kilovolts. Only 20% of people struck die immediately, but it is entirely possible for a victim to suffer delayed death months after the fact. You were able to prevent immediate death by the skin of your teeth, but Evan could still die from secondary causes, like hemorrhaging or neurological or cardiac complications. At the very least, he could have some pretty severe long-term consequences from this.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting on this bed shaking and shivering, but when a doctor approaches you, you try your best to pull yourself together and listen. The doctor explains that Evan is, at this point, semi-conscious, confused and disoriented. You exhale in relief – the knowledge that Evan's brain is functioning is the best news you could get. Though he is not able to say much coherently, he has expressed awareness of a numb, tingling sensation in his hands and feet. The doctor is quick to let you know that there doesn't seem to be any paralysis, and you were right about the ruptured eardrum. As far as more serious internal injuries go, more tests and monitoring are needed to determine the severity of the lightning's bite, and whether his body will be able to shake it off, but right now, his heart is their greatest concern.

After much begging, you are allowed to see your brother. He is lying silently, as pale as his sheets, slightly elevated to ease his breathing and prevent any fluid buildup in his lungs. There are multiple wires affixed to his body, charting his still-erratic heartbeat. A bandage peeks out from his hospital gown, covering the angry burn near his neck. You are sure there's one on his foot as well. You approach, you gently touch his hand to alert him to your presence, but he doesn't stir. Remembering the numbness the doctor spoke of, you lean close and murmur, with as much diction as possible aimed toward his uninjured ear, "Evan?"

Just as they did on the beach, his eyelids flicker, but this time they manage to actually open, though with great effort and only halfway. You see his blue eyes, somewhat blank and searching, dart around the room a moment, before settling on you. Unsure of the extent of his mental awareness, you say nervously, "Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?"

It takes a minute, during which you hold your breath as his lips silently fumble to form an answer, but finally Evan manages to hoarsely whisper, "_Hank…_" Your name has never sounded so beautiful to your ears before. Any semblance of holding yourself together flies out the window. With that single word, you are unmanned. As you clutch onto him and sob heavily into his blanket, blubbering soft apologies, you feel a light touch upon your head. Your brother has managed to lift his tingling hand to give you comfort, and you cry even harder beneath his touch as he pats your hair like a puppy. You hear his strained voice slowly slurring, "Ssshh… s'okay, bro. 'M sorry too. S'okay." You haven't cried this hard since your mother died. You feel like you should be jumping for joy that Evan is alive, but you can't control yourself. You dimly think of the words _Post Traumatic Stress Disorder_, and you wouldn't be surprised if both you and your brother wind up suffering from it. It doesn't matter now, though.

Later, though you do not know it, you will look back and be both grateful and bitter for this day.

The heart is too damaged to resume beating properly...

The kidneys are the next to fail...

Hepatic failure follows shortly after...

When Evan dies almost two weeks later, unable to recover from multisystem failure, you are grateful for the extra time you had with him, however short it was – you have been able to clear the air and make amends for your argument, and had the chance to show your brother that he means more to you than anything in the world. You will always be grateful that, at least on Evan's part, there is no anger, no fear, no raging against the dying of the light. Despite the persistent fog that continues to cloud his brain, when you finally have to explain what's happening to him, he understands. He recognizes that he's not going to survive much longer – you think maybe he knew it even before you found the nerve to tell him. He's sad, but at peace, which is all anyone can ask for. His only concern is for you and for your father.

Near the end, just before Evan slips into the coma that will quietly ease him out of this brief, painful half-life and back into his mother's arms, he manages to tell you he doesn't regret bringing Dad back into your lives. "I don't have to worry… You won't be alone now…" You'll always wonder if he knew, on some level, that his time on earth wouldn't be long and he wanted to make sure you'd have family in your life, wanted to show his love for you by making sure you'd be taken care of. You are grateful that when he goes it's relatively easy, gentle, the coma having silenced any remaining pain. You're grateful that you are there to hold him as he passes, and you hope that he's somehow aware of your presence at that final moment. _"I'm here… I won't let you go…"_

But the bitterness still holds...

One of the last things Evan says is that it's no one's fault… "it just _is._" But your own anger will still come through in the questions that plague you – why were you able to bring him back to life, only to lose him in the end anyway? Why did he have to suffer so much from this? Is that your fault? The first time had been quick, painless – just a flash and then oblivion – but then you brought him back to endure unimaginable pain as parts of his body failed, one after another. Why were you the witness – the lightning could have just as easily struck you instead, or both of you. Why didn't it? Why were you spared from the physical strike, but not the trauma of the event, which you must live with for the rest of your life? Was there anything you could have done differently that would have changed the outcome? You would have given him anything, taken years off your own lifespan to add to his… Did nature or God just capriciously single Evan out? You always knew Evan was special… too special. Who on earth are you supposed to blame for this?

You guide your father out of the cemetery, where you linger long after the crowd has dispersed (and there is such a crowd – more mourners than Evan would have ever guessed). Your dad is still somewhat frail from his own recent heart attack and wrecked by grief for the son he lost so much time with… the son he thought he would have the chance to start over with. Neither of you says a word as the enormity of your mutual loss engulfs you. You don't like it here in the Hamptons anymore, but you know now that you will never leave this place, because even though it's the place where he died, it's also the place where Evan was happiest, and his presence can still be felt, laughing and forever suspended in the eternal summer of his short life.

Today there is no trace of violent storm clouds; the sky is a brilliant, peaceful blue now… the same beautiful color as those mischievous, lively eyes you will never forget.

_The End_


End file.
